


these are the hands of fate

by echoesofstardust



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Chocolatier AU, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, pining and softness bc I write exactly one (1) type of fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25784743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoesofstardust/pseuds/echoesofstardust
Summary: Sometimes, when she sees him, she half-expects him to tell her he’s found his soulmate. She knows it’s coming, but if the universe could lend him to her for a little while longer, she’d take every minute she can get, gather each stolen moment like fireflies in a jar from a summer evening.
Relationships: Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 51
Kudos: 117





	these are the hands of fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fanforever15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanforever15/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to Fanforever15, who is one of the sweetest souls in this fandom. Thank you for all your support and lovely comments! (I know I promised you something short and sweet for your bday last year, I’m so so so sorry I’ve only just gotten around to it, but it’s a little longer than I originally planned so I hope that makes up for it!)
> 
> As always, endless apologies for all liberties taken, but I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> (title is from taylor swift’s ‘state of grace’)

_i knew you_

_in the shape_

_of your soul and shadow_

_when we were made_

_out of the embers_

_of the life we lived_

_before._

//

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine.

Ever since she’d learned that another chocolatier was moving into the shop next door to hers, she’s been a little stressed.

She’s worked hard to establish _Virtue’s Delights_ as a respectable and well-known chocolate shop, so when she heard that a new shop called _Chocolate, Non Aliter_ was going to be right next to hers, it’s been a recurring worry that’s been the cause of more than one fitful sleep. She’s pasted a sweet smile whenever one of her customers had chattered excitedly about it for these past few months because it is an exciting thing, she knows. Ordinarily she’d look forward to meeting another chocolatier, someone who has the same love of chocolate that she does, and being able to appreciate their own set of talents and skills, but the bottom line is that at the end of the day, whoever sets up shop next to hers will be her competitor.

She prides herself on being calm and even-keeled. She has a lot of faults but keeping her emotions under control is one of her better strengths. (Not always healthily, but—she’s working on that.)

Except, apparently, after her second (or third—she might’ve lost count) glass of wine.

She knows it’s the evening before their opening (it _might’ve_ been marked in her planner and circled multiple times in red) so against sober Tessa’s judgment she marches over next door, yanks open the brand-new, spotless glass doors and all but yells, “You!” Her wine-glass precariously dangles from one hand and she points at the person with their back to her with the other. “Who do you think you are? You think you can waltz in here and steal my business and my customers—”

And the person turns around and all she sees is dark, tousled hair and sharp jawlines and a deliciously broad chest and eyes that look like just the right colour of warm melted chocolate and—oh _fuck._

He blinks at her, seemingly unsure what to make of the situation. She still hasn’t found the words to say either, her mind a cloudy haze of either running back out the way she came in, or like, blurting out all the sonnets she wants to write about how handsome he is.

“Ms Virtue?” he says meekly. His hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck.

“You...you know my name,” she says. Stupidly.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Your work is—incredible.” His voice isn’t quite like honey, but something deeper and richer and a little bit rough. She likes it more than she’ll admit.

“Oh. Well, thank you.” What was she trying to say again?

“I was actually just in the middle of putting together a gift basket of sorts? For you?” He pinkens slightly. “I know what I’m capable of is no match for your talent but,” he opens his palms and shrugs, laughing softly, “I just wanted to give you something as a ‘Hi, I’m your new neighbour’ kind of present.”

Jesus. She’d barged in here accusing him of criminalistic intentions and he’s here making up a gift basket? For her?

“Oh. That’s—that’s so kind of you.”

He places a final box in the basket (it’s an actual wicker basket, straight out of a fairytale book, which seems fitting because he looks like he could be a Disney prince), straightens some of the other things he’d put in there and she knows that her staff Maia and Kaetlyn will probably swoon when they see what he’s giving them when they come in tomorrow morning.

He holds it out with a shy smile and her hand itches to trace it with a careful, gentle finger. 

(But she can’t. She thinks of the soulmark on her neck, and knows there’s a possibility he has one. There’s something about him that tells her if he has one, he’s one that believes in them. And she’s long since made up her mind to not fall for someone who does.)

She steps forward to take it, their hands brushing.

“Will you be alright? Do you want me to bring it over?”

“No! No, that’s fine. I’m just next door.”

He nods. She’s getting a distinct impression that he’s trying not to laugh. She suppresses the urge to huff. Does he think she’s not capable? She’s a strong, independent woman. She doesn’t need anyone.

“Okay. Take care, Ms Virtue. I look forward to being neighbours.” He smiles, and it’s a gorgeous smile. She peeks down at the basket. She knows artistry when she sees it and this man is _good._ There are so many intricate details on each piece, and she looks at the hands that have crafted them. They must be so skilled, and gentle, and she hazily wonders how they’d feel on her skin…

Nope. Virtue, we’re not going there.

She mentally shakes herself. “Me too. Welcome to the neighbourhood, mister…?”

“It’s Scott. Scott Moir.”

–

When her alarm blares in the morning, the first thing she takes note of is the throb in her head. The second thing she remembers is all the accusations she hurled at her new neighbour while in a less-than-sober state.

“Fuck.” She turns over and buries her head in her pillow. If she silently screams into it then no one else has to know. What a spectacular way to make a first impression. Why did she do that? What got into her? 

_The wine,_ she bemoans. She’s locking up all the wine in her apartment and throwing away the key.

She only gives herself a couple of minutes to wallow in embarrassment before getting out of her bed, rubbing her eyes in an effort to wake up. Her brain helpfully supplies her with fragments of the previous evening. Apparently it’s particularly stuck on the fluff of his hair, and the shape and strength of his hands as he gave her the gift basket—

 _The gift basket._

How quickly had she painted him as the villain in her story when it turns out she's the one who needs to apologise. It's very nice of him to make something for her--well, for everyone in her shop. She's sure that Kaetlyn and Maia will love the chocolates. 

She washes her face and brushes her teeth. She’ll have to give him something in return, she knows. She finished up a batch of truffles yesterday. Maybe he’ll like them? She feels weirdly nervous to give him something. She’s the first person to critique whatever she’s making, chasing perfection even though it’s as impossible as the horizon. 

But. 

For some reason, she wants him to like what she’s made him.

She groans. No. No, no, _no._ She rubs her face like she can make the thoughts go away. She sounds like a schoolgirl with a crush. Which she’s not. She’s neither of those things. She looks in the mirror and touches her mark. She doesn’t want to be either of those things.

Once she’s showered and put on her make-up and gotten dressed for the day, she grabs a cup of coffee and heads down to the shop to get it ready for a new day.

Kaetlyn and Maia won’t be coming in until it’s closer to nine and she adores them and she’s thankful for them but she also appreciates these moments in the morning when it’s just her, before the rush of customers and the need to be switched on. She starts off on preparing the day’s orders, filling and wrapping the boxes of chocolate. No matter how many years it’s been, it’s still an exciting sort of joy to wrap each box, thinking about all the possible reasons they’ve been ordered, knowing that it’s out of a common thread of love.

“Tessa!” She hears Kaetlyn shout from the front door. “Good morning!”

“Morning, Kaet,” she smiles at her as she pokes her head into the kitchen. “How are you?”

“Good! Ready for today. It’s next door’s first day today, right?”

Tessa groans.

“Don’t worry, Tess. We’re not gonna be put out of business. Not if me or Maia have anything to do about it.”

“If we have anything to do with what?” Maia chimes in from the front part of the shop. “And Tess, what’s with this basket on the counter? The labels all have some...Latin, I think? Latin words on them. Where are they from?”

"That’s from next door,” she mumbles.

“Next door?!” Maia and Kaetlyn exclaim in perfect synchrony. Then look at her expectantly.

“Uh, I opened a bottle of wine last night,” she starts.

“ _Tessa,_ ” Kaetlyn wails, “you know that never ends well.”

“I _know_ ,” she agrees. Wholeheartedly. “Around my second or third glass, I decided it was good idea to march over next door—”

“Oh god—”

“—and started yelling about how he was going to steal all my business and my customers—”

“Oh _no_ —”

“—and I don’t think I can ever show my face to him again,” she says, cringing. She shakes her head, focusing on the bow she’s tying on the box she’s wrapping up.

Kaetlyn peers into the basket. “But he made all this? For you?” She looks back up at Tessa with wide-eyed wonder, taking some of the boxes and wrapped chocolates out. There’s a lot in the basket and each additional thing that Kaetlyn takes out makes her heart feel heavier with guilt. 

Kaetlyn also looks like she’s about to write a rom-com from one gesture from Scott and Tessa nips it in the bud. At this point, it would be a miracle if they’re able to be friends.

“For us,” Tessa corrects. “It’s for everyone in the shop.”

Maia comes out from the kitchen out the back with the newest batch of truffles that Tessa had made and chimes in, “I don’t know Tess. He did say it was for you, right?”

“‘You’ can be used in the singular or plural!” she protests.

The door opens.

“Mr Moir!” She yelps, high-pitched. 

“Ms Virtue. And it’s Scott, please.” He grins and she can see both Kaetlyn and Maia about to faint like heroines in a period drama. He’s dressed in a white chef’s top similar to hers, except it’s embroidered with his shop’s name in the top left corner. _Chocolate, Non Aliter_. It must be a pun or a reference or something, but she doesn’t know what either of the last two words mean.

She doesn’t think she’s earned the right to call him by his first name considering, uh, all the events that have transpired last night.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” she blurts out. “That was incredibly rude of me, and I don’t know what I was thinking.”

To her relief, he just laughs. “You did give me a bit of a heart attack. But I forgive you.” He’s very quick to forgive and it surprises her. She’s the complete opposite, more liable to hold grudges until she’s buried six feet under. “Did you enjoy the gift basket?”

“I haven’t tried any yet,” she admits, “and I wanted to share it with my staff. I don’t think you’ve met Kaetlyn or Maia? They’re the reason my business hasn’t completely imploded yet,” she jokes. She really does owe a lot to both girls who’ve been with her since the beginning of the business. They keep her accountable, make her laugh and help her believe in herself when she doesn’t.

“No, I haven’t. It’s nice to meet you both.” He comes forward to shake each of their hands.

“I know we’ll love it. Are you ready for your opening today?” She changes the subject. One, because she knows how nerve-wracking it is. As much as she knows they’ll be competitors she doesn’t want him to fail. Someone who crafts chocolates as intricately as he does must care a lot about his work. And the second reason is that she really wants to move on from her embarrassing herself last night. 

“A little bit, yeah,” he admits. “But I’m lucky like you and I have my friend Chiddy working with me. I’m sure he’ll keep me grounded.”

“Good luck for today. Between you and me,” she drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “you should get a lot of foot traffic. My customers haven’t really talked about anything other than you for the past couple of months.” She shakes her head.

“Really?”

“Really. Make sure to spare some customers for me, okay? Please don’t put me out of work.” She thinks of her tipsy accusations from the night before and blushes.

“I don’t think I could do that. You’re like, the best chocolatier in the city. You were a finalist in the International Chocolate Awards last year.” He stops, stammering, “I—I mean, I swear I’m not a stalker! I just really admire your work. Anyway, it’s probably more of a reckless career move on my part to set up shop right next to yours.” He laughs. “But when my realtor showed me the space, it was like I could see everything I wanted out of it. And it felt like coming home.”

He says it so wistfully, like it’s a dream he’s not sure will come true. She wants to reach out to him and squeeze his hand because like recognises like, and a dreamer recognises another. It doesn’t feel all that long ago when people told her that what she wanted was an impossibility.

“Will you drop by later?” He asks, earnest. “All of you. You can have anything you want, on the house.”

“Anything?” She raises an eyebrow. He’s very generous, if he’s willing to give them even more free chocolate. She’d worry that he’s going to lose _his_ business, but his entire being radiates warmth and friendliness that she just knows he’ll be popular.

“Within reason. I don’t want to be bankrupt on my first day!”

“We’ll drop by. I’ll probably let Kaet and Maia go first and maybe I’ll swing by later?”

“There might not be anything left by the end of the day,” he jokes, a touch cocky, but sounding like he’s just putting up a front to hide how nervous he actually is.

“Because you’ve stress-eaten all of them?” she teases back and he bends over backwards when he laughs and she feels triumphant.

“Touché.” He looks at the clock on one of the walls. “I better get back. I really do mean it. I hope to see all you lovely ladies at some point today.” With a final wave, he ducks out of her shop.

At first no one speaks but Maia clears her throat, “So, Tess, how many tiers do you want me to make the cake at yours and Scott’s wedding?”

“What?!”

“Not fair!” Kaetlyn yells. “What if I want to make it?”

“You can make the cupcakes!”

“There will be no wedding!”

“Tessa,” Kaetlyn shoots her a look, “he made you that gift basket, plus he quite clearly admires you and has kept up with your career, plus he’s asked you to make sure you visit him!”

“That invitation was for all of us!”

“But you didn’t see the way he looked at you,” Maia says, dreamily.

She shakes her head. She adores both of them, thinks of them as her younger sisters, and a familiar feeling of sadness curls up her spine when she remembers how she’s a little bit different from them. She rubs the lower part of her neck, just under the high collar of her shirt. “But the marks,” she says weakly.

Soulmarks are rarer and rarer nowadays. Not every person is born with them and more and more people fall in love and marry and build lives together without being predestined by fate. Recently, they’ve made medical advances that allow the permanent removal of a soulmark. It’s supposedly incredibly painful and irreversible, without even going into the stigma that surrounds the removal of the mark. But the option is there, if she wants it. 

She’s one of the supposedly lucky people to have been born with one and there’s this expectation that she’ll meet some person who’s suddenly perfect for her and live her life happily ever after with them. But her parents were soulmates and their relationship only lasted to the bitter end, and she’s met a handful of people who’ve spent their lives desperately searching for that one perfect person to no avail, and she’s consoled a friend whose heart had been broken by someone who cheated and left under the idea that just because it’s their soulmate, it’s somehow a justified excuse.

So, no. She doesn’t feel lucky. She’s going to choose to fall in love on her own terms. She keeps her mark covered with concealer and fabric and only those closest to her know that she has one. A few boyfriends have known but all of them have been mark-less and it never felt right to show them her mark.

And Scott—Scott could be mark-less, but he could have one. And if he has one, he must believe in them, and if he believes in them, she’s not putting herself in a position to fall for him.

They can be neighbours, they’ll be chocolate competitors, and maybe, if she’s lucky, they can be friends. And that’s all they’ll ever be.

–

“Mr Moir?” She pushes open the glass doors and she’s hit by a sense of déjà vu. Decidedly-not-sober Tessa pushed through the same doors last night with more malicious words ready on the tip of her tongue. She hopes she doesn't embarrass herself this time. 

“Ms Virtue! Is that you?” He pokes his head out from a door on the other side of the shop. “I’m so glad you came.” His hair is dishevelled and he’s flushed but grinning and his uniform isn’t quite as pristine but it must’ve been a good day. She knows her customers have been raving about him all day and she can’t even disagree.

“It’s me.” She looks around the space, able to properly take it in now that she’s not under the influence of too much alcohol. The floors are panelled in dark timber, the walls are a golden-yellow and the distinct sweetness of chocolate lingers in the air. “Wow, I love it. You’re really gonna put me out of business, you know that?”

Scott opens his mouth to say something when another man pops from behind one of the shelves and walks over to them. “Is that _the_ Tessa Virtue? Scott, why is she talking to you?”

“Ignore him, that’s my best friend Chiddy.”

“‘Ignore him’, he says. Well, Scott, do you want me to tell Tessa about the newspa—”

Scott’s eyes widen and he claps his hand over Chiddy’s mouth.

“Tell me about what?”

“Nothing! He was about to tell you nothing.” Scott lets go of Chiddy with a glare.

She’s curious but lets it go for now. “So, you promised me free chocolate?”

“Yeah, I did.” He goes through the door to his workspace and she follows him. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I keep on offering you my stuff because it can’t compare to yours.” He laughs, “But if you want, I have these ones I’m working on at the moment.”

He presents her with a plate with square and round and rectangular pieces, some smooth and some textured. She picks one at random and bites into it. The outer layer is perfectly tempered and a rich caramel oozes out onto her tongue. She nearly moans in delight.

“Good?”

She nods. “That’s incredible. Can I grab another?” The next she tastes has a jellied centre, raspberry if she had to guess.

The third one is an orange crème and she wrinkles her nose before she can stop herself.

Scott frowns.

“It’s good!” In terms of technique, it’s very well executed. “It’s just not my favourite flavour.”

“Ah, fair enough. It’s my favourite, though.” He winks at her as he grabs a similarly shaped one on the plate and pops it into his mouth.

She sneaks another one. She loves her work but when she tastes her own creations, she’s more likely to taste and see and feel the imperfections instead of enjoying it. While she’s eating Scott’s chocolates, she can at least turn that part of her brain off and just savour.

“How was today?” she asks him, licking some of the melted chocolate off her fingers

“It was really good. There were a lot of people and everyone seemed so nice. You know they all talk about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, all your customers adore you. I’ve lost count of how many well-meaning older ladies were telling me about ‘the beautiful young woman next door and have you tried her chocolates? They’re just so heavenly’,” he raises the pitch of his voice to try to mimic their cadence and she covers her laugh. It was probably the same number that told her about ‘the handsome young man next door and have you tried his chocolates? They’re just incredible.’

“Right as they were buying yours? That’s a little rude.”

“Oh no, who can blame them? I have tried your chocolates. And they are heavenly.”

She stops short. “Have you gone in to buy them before?”

He nods. “It makes for good birthday presents. I’m definitely my mom’s favourite son now.”

“Who served you?” Her voice sounds unusually tinny.

“It was usually you.”

“But I don’t remember!”

He laughs. “I’m not gonna be offended that you don’t remember. You see a lot of people every day. I would’ve just been a random face in the crowd.”

“But—” _you’re not a face I’d forget easily,_ she wants to say.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, can I ask you a favour?” He waits until she nods. “Can you call me Scott?”

“If you can call me Tessa.” He beams when she grants him that. She looks around the space, “Do you need help clearing up with anything?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ve got Chiddy here with me. I’m sure you’ve got your own cleaning up to do.”

She winces, thinking of her own kitchen and workspace. “That I do. I love all the making but the mess to clean up after…”

“...definitely not as fun.”

She suppresses the urge to yawn. “Lucky I only live above the shop. Not far to walk before I can collapse in bed.”

He chuckles. “The people who designed these buildings had workaholics like us in mind, eh? Thank you for coming to see the shop and not being too harsh with your chocolate critique.” He winks. “Sweet dreams, Tessa.”

When he says her name, for a moment she wonders if it’s a good idea that she let him do so, because it feels like she’s given him a key to unlock something even she doesn’t know.

–

She yawns as she moves about her kitchen, taking her chocolates out of their moulds, noting down what varieties she needs to make today. She had stayed up last night finishing up a batch of orange crèmes to bring over to Scott’s as a thank you. She looks at the box, the bow she’d taken care of to tie neatly around it and it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

The sky’s only just starting to lighten but he must be awake already, if they keep the same hours. She takes the box and walks over to his shop, knocks on the front door and only realising that he probably won’t hear her if he’s working in his kitchen in the back. She should’ve thought this through more.

But he walks out of his kitchen and sees her. She gives him a small wave as he walks over to unlock his door.

“Tessa!” he greets, far too upbeat and lively this early in the morning.

“Hi.” She holds out the box in her hands. “I made these for you.”

“For me?” He takes it from her. “What for?”

“As a thank-you, for everything you gave us. And also as an apology for, um,” she winces, “everything I said that first night.”

He smiles. “You can stop apologising, Tess. We’re good, promise.”

She’s about to say something but she shivers. It’s still chilly this early in the morning.

“Shit, sorry. I’m the worst.” Scott steps back and holds his door open. “Do you want to come inside? It’s warmer. I know you’re probably busy but my pain au chocolats are just about to come out of the oven. Not to brag, but they’re pretty good.”

“I’d love to.” It really is so much warmer inside, and she can already smell the pastries he’s baking in the oven. She follows Scott to his kitchen. Once the oven dings, he takes them out and places the trays on cooling racks. He finds a plate and places one of them on it, then gives it to her.

She takes a moment to breathe in the buttery aroma. She takes the pastry and bites into it, practically moaning at how it’s perfectly flaky with just the right amount of sweetness and she’s torn between taking the smallest bites to savour it and just devouring the entire thing in one go.

“This is really good,” she says after she swallows the bite.

“Yeah?” His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “That’s good. You can take some with you if you want.”

She's very tempted but at this rate Scott's gonna run out of things to sell. "Oh no, that's okay. You've given me far too much already. But these really are incredible."

She's usually so particular about her routines but taking the time out of her morning is more than worth it. She'll have to buy one of these again from him sometime soon. 

"I won't keep you any longer. I'm sure your mornings are always busy."

"Your pain au chocolats are worth it." She hands back the plate and Scott walks her back over to her shop even though it's barely ten steps between their front doors. 

"Have a good day, Tess." He smiles. 

(The next morning, it's her that hears a knock on her door. When she opens it, there on the doorstep is a box with his logo, and nestled inside is piping hot and carefully wrapped pain au chocolat, alongside a post-it note with a smiley face and a hastily scribbled _‘Have a good day, Tess!’_

There’s another one the next day, and the next and the next, until she rushes over to his place on another indigo-skied morning, protesting his generous gifts but he just laughs and presses another pastry in her hand, telling her not to worry about it.

It progresses to plates shared on one of his kitchen counters, coffee brewing by the time she drops by, and it’s never more than a minute or a moment but it’s the best part of her mornings.)

//

_i whispered of you_

_before i knew what i heard_

_and the meaning_

_of the words_

_and i would not realise_

_until._

//

“T, what’s this I hear about a discount?” He asks as his greeting when he drops by at the end of the day.

(The first thing she’ll note is that she was right: they are a little competitive—there’s a whiteboard with tallies on how many valentines’ gifts they each made last month, for example—but they’ve formed this little ritual. Once they’re both closed, he’ll go over to her kitchen or she’ll go over to his, and they talk about their days and maybe taste-test whatever chocolates they’re making at the moment. She wasn’t particularly _lonely_ before meeting him, but if these little moments with him suddenly disappear, she’d miss it.)

Oh. She was hoping it would be a while before he figures out what she’s done. She wonders which of their regulars told him. It was probably Mr Elyan—he’s always coming in to buy chocolates for his wife and he’s the biggest gossip.

“Nothing. What do you mean?” She blinks innocently at him but he must not be fooled because he keeps on looking expectantly at her. She busies herself with looking over her inventory and says, “I just told customers if they’d already purchased something at yours, I’ll give them a discount here. First, you mentioned being worried about your finances which is par for the course during your first year in business, and having a bulk deal like that will boost your sales. Second, there’s so many regulars who buy at both our stores that it would help them out as well.”

He looks pained. “I know that, but what about you? What are you getting out of this?”

“I get to help you out.”

“Tess.” She looks up. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“I’ll start a discount too,” he says determinedly. “No, Virtch,” he shakes his head as she protests, “I’m not letting you do this alone. I want to help you too.”

“Okay, okay,” she smiles up at him. “How was your day?”

“Tiring. There’s this mom, right, and it’s just her son’s third birthday party but apparently she wants a three-layer cake on top of, I swear, like fifty boxes of chocolates. Do you really want three-year-olds hopped up on that much sugar? I don’t think so.” She laughs as he gestures wildly. These moments with him at the end of the day have started to become her favourite part.

He tells her about Chiddy knocking over one of the displays he’d worked hard on arranging, and a bewildered teenager looking for a gift for her girlfriend, and an adorable kiddo buying a present for his mom, just because. “And then…” he trails off.

“Then what?”

“I think someone tried to ask me out.” The words run together and she barely deciphers what he says.

“Oh! Well…” Since she met him, he hasn’t dated, but that’s probably because of how busy he’s been with the beginning of his business. But she supposes it’s not unusual if he starts to date now. He deserves all the good things in the world. “What did you say?”

“I said yes,” he confesses. “Tess.” His eyes widen. “What if she only asked because she’ll swindle me of all my chocolates?”

“I mean, why else would someone date you?” she teases him. “I hope you have a good time, Scott. You deserve it.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. She knows when he’s genuinely smiling when his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches, and—she stops that train of thought.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, of course.” She closes her laptop. “What is it?”

“You know about the soulmarks, right?” She nods, resisting the urge to touch hers where it’s covered by her collar. “Well, I—I have one.” Unlike her, his hand immediately touches the space over his heart. That’s where it must be. It’s fitting that it’s there, when he acts heart first, head second. “And I—I’ve always dreamed of meeting them. My soulmate. There’s someone out there who’ll understand me. From the start. And I can’t wait to meet them.”

“So...this could be them?”

“Maybe…” he sighs. “I don’t know, I guess sometimes I worry that I won’t ever find them. It shouldn’t be the end of the world, I know. Chiddy and his girlfriend Liz are so in love and neither of them have marks. But...my parents were soulmates. And they weren’t perfect but I was always certain of their love for each other. I don’t know...is it stupid to hope for that?”

She can picture the Moir household already, brimming with warmth and laughter and affection. Of course Scott would want to have what his parents have. “No, it’s not stupid at all. I hope you find them. They’ll be lucky to have you.”

He smiles and leans towards her, fatigue evident in every part of his body. “Anyway, enough about that. Have you thought any more about the chocolates we said we’d work on together?”

“Oh, yes!” She straightens, pulling out her journal from the shelf under the counter. “I’ve seen you do those ones where you paint the inside of the moulds before putting in the chocolate? I love that, do you think we could do that?”

She sketches out their ideas and brings out another pen so he can add to their blank page. There’s a ridiculously lucky person who gets to be Scott’s soulmate and she hopes they’ll love him the way he deserves.

(She wonders if she’ll get to keep these quiet moments with him, in the shop after hours in the blissful dark.)

–

By the tenth time Maia and Kaetlyn interrupt what she’s trying to do, telling her to take it easy and to let them take over for the day, she breaks.

“What’s going on? And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing. Kaet, you don’t have a poker face.”

“Chiddy told us Scott’s date is tonight, so if you need to…mourn, we’re happy to take most of the work today.”

“Mourn?” She laughs. “He’s going on a date, not dying.”

“But aren’t you...upset?”

“No…? Why would I be?” She stops chopping the chocolate she’s about to make a ganache with. “Hang on, did you guys think I’d be jealous?”

“Uh, yeah?”

She smiles at both of them. They’re well-meaning but they’ve got the wrong narrative in their heads. “I’m not jealous. I promise. Besides, he’s asked me for outfit pointers before the date tonight.”

“So you’ll purposely make sure he looks awful?” Maia looks dubious.

“No! This isn’t high school. There isn’t some long-term ploy to get him. And I mean,” she muses, turning back to the chocolate she’s chopping, “it’s Scott, can he really look awful?”

Kaetlyn makes some sort of strangled noise.

“Please trust me when I say we’re friends. And that if I wanted to try my chances with him, I would’ve asked by now.” She realises her hand is hovering over her mark and she moves it away, grabbing the bowl she’ll transfer the chocolate to. “Now go serve customers!” She waves her hand and both girls scurry off.

 _Jealous?_ She shakes her head, pouring the heavy cream into a pan so she can start simmering it. Honestly, what a ridiculous idea.

Her phone pings with a message from Scott later that day, after Maia and Kaetlyn had gone home, and she’s in the middle of looking over the day’s earnings.

_Tess_

_Dark-blue or white?_

He sends a photo where he’s holding up both shirts.

_Dark-blue I think_

_I swear if you wear white just to spite me_

_You will regret it when you spill something and it shows_

It’s almost like she can hear his laugh, the exact short, sharp intake of breath that comes before and the loud, bright sound. He must still be upstairs in his apartment over his shop.

_Why would I go against your opinion?_

_You’re the best, Virtch_

_Good_

_And make sure not to put too much gel in your hair!!!!_

_!!!!_

_(The extra exclamation marks are to make sure you get the idea)_

_It looks better without_

She can picture his pout but if he wants this date to turn into a second he really should listen to her. The days when he doesn’t put gel in his hair are the ones where so many customers swoon over him, and she knows this because they always gossip at her, wondering if they have a chance with him. She always feels annoyed after. That must be because they really should be minding their own business and not harassing the poor guy.

He sends her a final photo and yeah, he looks good, if she does say so herself.

She’s in the middle of placing the next batch of orders for supplies when her phone pings again, a little later.

_wish me luck!_

_Good luck, don’t send the poor girl running!_

_rude, T_

_maybe I’ll sweep her off her feet_

_Because you accidentally trip her over?_

There’s a bit of a pause.

_Virtch you owe me_

_the couple next to me just gave me the biggest death glare from laughing too hard_

_if I come back in just a body bag at the end of the night it’s all your fault_

_Don’t worry_

_I’ll make sure you have a good epitaph_

_Shit, she’s here_

_I’m gonna go_

_I’ll see you tomorrow T :)_

_I’ll see you tomorrow_

She stares at the blinking line wondering if she should add something else but he’s probably already deep in conversation knowing him, charming his date with little effort, and focusing all his attention on her.

She takes her journal out to flick through her ideas and she comes across the page where they’d been sketching out the chocolates they were going to make together. They made the first batch just last week and it was an exhilarating feeling. She likes seeing his touch and her own on the same batch of chocolates.

She looks back at her front door, the ‘open’ sign long since flipped to ‘closed’, and she feels like she’s missing something. Then she realises that it’s the first time in a long time that she’s not seeing Scott for the evening, won’t get to laugh at his stupid jokes or hear his thoughtful opinions on her work.

She flips the pages to the most recent flavour profile she’s written down and gets down her couverture chocolate from the shelf. She’s been doing this alone for a long time before he came into her life—she can do it on her own for a lot more after.

But just because she can—make no mistake, she knows what she’s capable of—she realises she likes it a lot more when he’s there with her, that she _wants_ him there with her.

_Oh._

Oh _no._

Oh _fuck._

She squeezes her eyes shut. No, no, no. She’s not getting feelings for _Scott,_ of all people. One, because he’s currently on a date with someone. Two, because he’s quickly becoming one of her best friends. And three, because of their marks.

She knows he’s looking for his soulmate. She can’t take that away from him. And she...selfishly wants someone to love her because they choose to, not because it’s been foretold by some stupid marks. So, whatever they are, they’re not meant for each other.

She’ll just—love him quietly, until it fades.

She tells herself it’s okay though to think about him, alone in this silent kitchen. She forms each chocolate and thinks about him: the colour of his eyes and the shape of his smile, the timbre of his laugh and the curl of his hair, his boundless energy and the soft way he says her name.

She laughs and then she realises she’s crying, wet tears on her cheeks and she moves away from her workspace in case they drop on the moulds. Her chest aches but she’d never realised the expanse of loving someone, the happiness that lingers from having all this affection for someone who is good and kind and deserving of it, even if it will never be returned.

She closes her eyes, tilts her head up and takes a deep breath. It will be okay.

(She brings them over to him the next evening, offering him this new batch to taste. She thought it would feel different seeing him after, but it doesn’t really. Maybe because the change happened a long time ago, and she’d just woken up to a sky that was already there.

“Tess! These chocolates taste amazing!” He stops around a mouthful. “Not that they’re not always delicious! But there’s just something else about these...”

She’s about to laugh at his certainty that there’s something special about these ones but she presses her hand to her chest because she realises.

It’s everything that’s spilled over from her still-aching, broken innocence of a heart.)

–

Sometimes, when she sees him, she half-expects him to tell her he’s found his soulmate. She knows it’s coming, but if the universe could lend him to her for a little while longer, she’d take every minute she can get, gather each stolen moment like fireflies in a jar from a summer evening.

“Are you okay?” he asks her on one such stolen evening. “You seem quieter, lately. Obviously, if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but if you need me to, I’ll listen.” He looks at her with such concern, a gentle hand on her arm and she feels one uttered word away from breaking down.

“My dad called.” It happens a few times a year, and every time, it feels like he’s just fulfilling some obligation. “And—” she takes a shuddering breath, “—my mom and my dad were soulmates, have I told you that?” She asks, knowing full well she hasn’t. “They had matching birds, my dad behind his ear and my mom on her wrist. But he,” the first sob escapes her and Scott doesn’t hesitate to scoop her up in a tight embrace, “he left, Scott. And I don’t—I don’t know why we weren’t enough.”

Her tears must make a mess of the front of his shirt.

“I have a soulmark,” she confesses, because if this is a night for confessions she’ll choose this one instead of _I shouldn’t but I’m falling for you._ “But I—I _don’t_ want it.” It’s terrifying and liberating to spit it out.

She waits for him to say something placating, how she’s lucky to have a mark, how she shouldn’t be complaining, but he doesn’t say anything, just holds her until her breathing evens out a little more. She thinks that Scott’s arms would be a wonderful place to fall asleep in but they’re not for her, not for her.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “For crying on you.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He moves his hand up and down her spine. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Tess. I don’t know how anyone could leave you,” he cups her cheek. “If you ever need to talk again, about this or anything else, I’ll be here, okay?”

She knows he won’t always be but for now, he is, and that’s enough.

She buries her face in the space in the crook of his neck and breathes him in, wonders if there’s a night somewhere in the distant future where she’ll roll over in bed and think he’d be there instead of a cold, untouched side, simply because her lungs are full of him.

//

_i watched you_

_in the space between knowing_

_and having_

_and i said your name_

_quietly_

_during._

//

She has a soft spot for all her regulars. There’s Marie and Patch who come in once a month with little Bille-Rose, because they celebrate their monthsaries even though they’ve been married for years. And then there’s Mrs Rosario, who comes in to buy gifts for her friends’ birthdays without fail. 

And today, it’s Mr Elyan who comes in, who likes to surprise his wife with chocolates. He now buys from her and Scott, because he doesn’t want to play favourites, he’ll say with a wink.

“Ms Virtue!” he greets warmly. “And Mr Moir,” he nods at Scott who’s currently leaning against her front counter because he’s dropped by to visit while Chiddy’s manning the shop. They’re meant to be discussing the details of the farmer’s market stall where they were going to sell the chocolates they’ve collaborated on but they’ve been distracted talking about the show they ended up binging on netflix a couple of nights ago. The historical inaccuracies annoyed her and he’s been good-naturedly listening to her rants.

“Hello Mr Elyan, how are you?”

“Absolutely wonderful, thank you. The sun’s especially lovely today, don’t you think?”

“It really is,” Scott agrees. “What are you looking for today, sir? I know T’s just finished up a new batch of hazelnut praline chocolates. They’re some of Mrs Elyan’s favourites, yeah?”

“That they are! I was thinking of changing it up today. Surprise her.”

Tessa glances at Scott and she just knows they’re thinking of the same thing. Tessa turns back to Mr Elyan, “Would you like to try some of the chocolates that Scott and I worked on together?” She’s so in love with how they ended up, the swirls of colour on the outside and the bits of dried fruit and nuts on the inside.

“Oh yes! I think that’d be marvellous.” She passes one of the wrapped sets for him to look at. “Ysabel will love this. I know it. You kids are capable of amazing things together, eh?”

“Tess somehow allowed me to work with her,” Scott says, with a self-deprecating smile.

“Stop that,” she taps his arm, frowning, “working with you is what I look forward to the most during the week.”

He smiles at her softly. “It’s the best part of mine, too.”

She remembers that Mr Elyan is in front of them and she tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. She keeps what she feels for Scott under wraps most of the time, but she’s scared that sometimes it’s written all over her face, plain as day.

“Ms Virtue, Mr Moir, I know you’re both busy, but can you indulge an old man with a story?”

“Of course,” Tessa says and Scott agrees, leaning in to listen.

“I met Ysa years and years ago now. We were so young back then, it feels like a forever ago.” Mr Elyan’s eyes glimmer with memories. “I assume you know the marks, yes?” He waits for them to nod. “They are rare and a gift, or so the stories go. I have a mark,” he tells them, “and when Ysa and I first met, I didn’t know that she had a mark and she didn’t know that I had one too. It took us years before we finally showed them to each other.” He taps his nose. “I know what you’re thinking: was it the same mark?”

“The truth is it didn’t matter. Whether it was the same, or different. Her hand had held mine for so long that to hold another’s would be foreign. She had shaped me and I had shaped her, simply because we had loved each other for so long: first as friends, then as more. A few black lines on our skin would not have changed the way I loved her. I didn’t choose to love her because she was my soulmate—to me, she’s my soulmate because I chose to love her, and I kept on doing so everyday. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” she whispers, not trusting herself to say anything louder. “It’s a beautiful story, Mr Elyan. Thank you for sharing it with us.” The chocolates that Mr Elyan always buys seem even more special: it’s love born out of choice, and she could weep at how wondrous she finds it.

“Thank you, sir.” Scott says. “I hope she enjoys the chocolates.”

“She does, every time. And well, it’s not all sunshine and roses, I can tell you that, but that’s like every partnership.” he looks between the two of them. “There’s no one I’d much rather have weathered life’s storms with than my Ysabel.” Mr Elyan gives them a final smile before leaving. It’s a familiar path that he must walk to their shops and back home, a familiar path as ingrained and engraved as the love he and his wife share.

She looks at Scott to find him already looking at her.

“Scott? Is everything okay?”

She knows he’s been having trouble sleeping lately. She’d split her stash of chamomile tea while he hadn’t found the time to buy some for himself yet, and she hopes it’s been helping.

“Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about me, T.”

“Is it what Mr Elyan said?” she asks, softly. She wonders what he’s feeling, especially because she knows he’s waiting for his soulmate. She doesn’t think it’s a bad thing—it’s beautiful in its own way. She thinks the worst thing to think when it comes to the marks is to believe that only one way of thinking about the marks is the best way. Everyone just wants to love and be loved, at the end of the day.

“No. Well, yes, but—” He looks at her, searching and intent. Like the answers he’s looking for are with her. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. She wonders if she should ask but leaves it alone for now.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” She places a hand on his shoulder.

He places his hand over hers. “I know, T. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is it okay if I still drop by in the morning? You know how much I love your pain au chocolats,” she tries to tease him but it falls flat, her heart beating wildly. If he needs more space, she can give him the morning. She can give him the day, the week, whatever he needs. She’s probably taken up too much of his time, too desperate for any sliver of time she can glean from him.

She looks down at her hands. She hadn’t realised how quickly she’d become someone who takes.

“Of course, Tess. You can come any morning. I’ll have it waiting for you with your second cup of coffee,” he winks and she rolls her eyes with a huff, like it doesn’t make her ache whenever she sees the plate and the mug, sitting on his kitchen counter side by side.

–

She nearly drops her tray of chocolates when she tries to open Scott’s front door, between trying to make sure it’s balanced on one arm and pushing the door open. She settles for pushing it open with her back while carrying the tray with both arms.

“Scott!” There’s no one in the main part of the shop so he must be in his kitchen. “I’ve got a new batch for you to try!” 

Usually by now, he would’ve yelled something back so she suddenly worries that there’s something wrong. 

The kitchen door’s open, and she steps into the space. He’s sitting at one of his kitchen benches, a laptop open in front of him. The plain black-and-white website is familiar to her, simply because she’s spent many nights looking through it, running her fingers back and forth over her soulmark, wondering if this was the best option for her.

“Scott.” No word has ever left her mouth so ready to break into pieces. Her hands tremble and she places her chocolates down before she drops them. “Scott, what—what’s going on?”

 _I can’t wait to meet them,_ echoes in her ears like an endless refrain. She doesn’t know how he went from that to researching the surgery that gets your soulmark removed. 

He looks up at her, and she doesn’t hesitate to stand in front of him to cup his cheek, thumb skimming the strong lines of his jaw and her heart doesn’t break when he noses into her touch but it comes incredibly close.

She doesn’t know why he’s considering losing the possibility of finding his soulmate when she could’ve sworn it’s one of the most important things to him.

She looks at the website, everything clearly outlined in sans serif font.

“You still have years to find them, you know,” she whispers. “Decades, even. I know,” she tries to picture who Scott’s soulmate is but comes up blank but she decides, they must be kind and good and make him laugh like no one else can, hands that fit with his and a head that fits in the crook of his neck because he gives the best hugs. “I know, I _know,_ that they’re out there looking for you too. Don’t lose hope yet, please.” She bites her lip as she feels the tell-tale ache behind her eyes and she blinks the tears back. “They’re going to be perfect for you, you know? They’ll happily wake up at the same ungodly hours you like to do, even on the weekends. She’ll have the same crappy taste in country music.” She waits until he smiles and he does but it’s a small, tired thing. “And they’ll love orange crème chocolates as much as you do and I’ll never understand why.”

“Tess,” he says, brokenly, a hand curving around one of hers, and she thinks, not for the first time, of a universe where it’s not too much to ask for the chance to love him. “I don’t want her.”

“What?”

“Tess, I—” he takes a shaky breath, eyes searching her entire face. He touches a strand of hair that’s escaped from her messy bun, twists it around his finger, lets it go. “There’s this girl, you see,” he says, his voice hoarse, “And she stormed over here tipsily one night, yelling at me that I was stealing her customers.” He smiles, softly.

_Oh._

“She’s beautiful, and kind, and smart, and so fucking talented, and she inspires me to be a better man every day.” His thumbs catch her tears. “And I fell in love with her.” And those words sound like a melody, a lullaby, because she wants those words to be the last thing she hears each night.

He closes his eyes, opens them again. They’re endless pools, bottomless and infinite but it’s not like she’s drowning because it feels like the first time she’s taken a breath, the first time she’s felt _alive._ “Tess, I love you. I know that the universe thinks that there’s someone out there perfect for me, and I used to think that was the most important thing, but it’s not. Not when I know that what I feel for you is the most sure I’ve been. And I know that the universe has someone out there too who’s perfect for you, but all I’m asking for is a chance...for me to win your heart?”

She’s frozen, stock-still, and his face falls and that snaps her out of her daze, and she nods and he smiles and she takes a deep breath. Her face close to his, her mouth close to his lips.

“What if you already have,” she whispers.

It’s a split-second when he understands and his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches into her favourite smile. Her eyes close, but she thinks she’ll see the imprint of his joy forever because it’s just that devastating.

It’s like falling in the moment before their lips touch, all the exhilaration and anticipation and knowing everything will change in the next breath. It’s like melted chocolate falling as she pours it, slow and sticky-sweet, her heart in her throat because what if she fucks this up. His hand moves to weave into her hair, the other finding its home at her waist. He nudges his nose against hers, then tilts his head to capture her lips with his like a candid photograph.

He pulls back, breathing roughly, with a mouth she’s just marked as hers, looking at her like she’s the only thing he wants to see and she kisses him again, insistent, biting on his bottom lip and shivering when he groans. She wants him to make that sound again, and again, and again.

“Tessa,” he says, so raw and ragged and she revels in how wrecked he sounds.

“I love you.” She glances at the laptop again, although the screen has faded to black. “If you choose to get the surgery, I’ll support you. But you don’t have to. I love you, and your soulmark is another part of you I’ll love.” 

She’s read the side effects. She’s gone down a rabbit-hole of abstracts from peer-reviewed medical journals about the greater susceptibility to diseases, especially of the heart, the greater impact of stress, the higher mortality rate. She respects those who choose to get the surgery but she’ll protect Scott from all of those harms if she could.

He hugs her tight to him, a strong arm banded around her waist. His head fits against her neck and his breath fans out across her soulmark, soft and soothing and gentle, the way he’s been with her since the very start.

–

“Morning Tessa!” Maia greets her when she walks into the shop still in her dishevelled state, wearing a shirt and sweatpants she’d stolen from Scott. 

(She and Scott had done nothing more than sleep in his bed that night, because she didn’t want to leave and he was more than willing to have her stay. It should terrify her how much she liked waking up next to him, but it doesn’t. It just feels right.)

“Maia! Hi,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. “You’re...early?” She swears she checked the clock and thought she had at least an hour to make herself presentable before either of them got here.

“I had to rush home early for my mom’s birthday last week, remember? I thought I’d make up for it by coming in early,” she explains, continuing to sweep the floor. Tessa’s expecting some sort of comment about her appearance—god knows how long Kaet and Maia have been teasing her about Scott—but nothing comes.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” she blurts out.

“About?” Maia looks at her. “You spent the night at Scott’s, right? You know, me and Kaet would have been deliriously ecstatic at one point—you know how much we were rooting for you two—but I _know_ what you’re going to say, Tess. It’s all platonic! I know you guys probably just fell asleep watching netflix together or something. Don’t worry, I know the drill.”

Tessa coughs to cover up her laugh. “Maia. It’s, um, not platonic.”

Maia nods. Then she must understand what Tessa’s saying because her head snaps up and the broom clatters to the floor. “Tes-sa!” she squeals.

Kaetlyn arrives at that moment. “What’s going on?”

“Tessa. And Scott.”

Kaetlyn takes one look at her and sighs. “Fell asleep together while watching, are you guys still doing your Jeopardy reruns?”

“We weren’t watching. Anything,” she pauses. “But I did spend the night.”

“Non-platonically!” Maia has to add.

Kaetlyn turns to her with wide-eyes. _“Tes-sa!”_

“I mean, we really didn’t do anything other than sleep. We both have to wake up early today. But, yeah, we talked. About how we feel about each other,” she confesses softly. Both girls look ready to unload a barrage of questions on her but she laughs and shakes her head. “Work first, gossip later. I need to get ready for today!”

She moves past them to walk up the stairs to her apartment. She closes the door and leans back against it, and thinks back to the previous evening: the mouth that she’d kissed, the lips that had kissed her, and the wonderful man they belonged to.

–

Kaetlyn and Maia leave in a rush and she doesn’t even find it in herself to complain. She thinks she sees Chiddy’s car leave a lot earlier as well and she feels a rush of affection for all the good people in her life.

Scott opens her door, and knocks lightly. “T?”

“Hi,” she smiles. “Did I just see Chiddy rushing off like something was chasing him?”

Scott laughs. “Yeah, apparently there was something pressing that needed him.”

“Funny. Kaet and Maia were in a hurry to leave as well.” She leans into him as he comes to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Are we that obvious?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I know I was. Chiddy’s teased me about you ever since he saw me save that newspaper article of you.” He stiffens. “I swear I’m not a stalker.”

“That’s what all the stalkers say,” she deadpans.

He groans, burying his face in her hair. “The truth is that I have a newspaper clipping of you, from when you first opened your shop? I wasn’t even halfway through culinary school and—I knew I’d started a little late. That it took me longer to know what it was I wanted to do. But to read about this amazing woman who knew what she wanted and went for it and loved chocolate as much as I did? You inspired me, Tess. More than you know.”

She touches the space over his heart. His breath hitches. There’s someone out there, meant for him, she knows. But he’s choosing her. Which to her, is the most important thing.

“I was so terrified when I picked the space next door to yours as the place to set up my shop, you know? But it felt...right. When I walked in to see the space, I could see everything I wanted. Well, almost everything.”

“Almost?”

“I didn’t see you coming. I thought, if I was lucky, we’d become friends. I never thought that we’d—” He falters.

“—fall in love?” She finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

“Neither did I.” She says nothing for a while, only feels his heartbeat beneath her cheek. “Scott?” she whispers. “Can we go slow? I just—it’s not you, but I’m—I feel—”

She feels the shift of his thumb across her back. He doesn’t interrupt her as she’s trying to find her words. “As slow as you need,” he says softly and she doesn’t doubt him. 

“I won’t need forever, I promise.”

He laughs, something soft and sudden and secret. “If you need forever and a day, you know I’ll give it to you, right?” She closes her eyes when he presses their foreheads together. It still makes her breath catch in her throat, something aching to spill over.

“Can I still wake up with you?” She winces, knowing she sounds like she doesn’t know what she wants. “This morning, I really liked that.”

“Me too.” He sighs deeply and it’s a comfort. “Come home with me?”

She nods. “I’ll just grab some of my stuff? I’ll meet you there.”

When he smiles and leaves her with a final squeeze of her hand, it doesn’t ache anymore because she knows she’ll come back to him.

//

_i touched you_

_like you were_

_a masterpiece i couldn't_

_and you let me_

_like i could fall_

_i could break_

_and you'd still hold me_

_after._

//

She laughs as he kisses her neck when they stumble up the stairs to his apartment. He had taken her out dancing and she had a wonderful time, Scott surprising her with all his moves as he spun and twirled her on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the city, the string quartet and the hanging lights and the flare of her skirt making it all feel like a fairytale.

These past few weeks have been a paradox: the happiness is so vivid it’s like a dream, but she knows it’s real when she’s grounded by Scott’s hand in hers.

He kisses her neck and it’s like he’s found a home there, his lips whispering over her skin, even over her covered soulmark. He never asks to see it, in the same way that she’s never asked to see his. But as she looks at him, this man she adores, she wants him to know every part of herself.

“Scott,” she traces the dip of his collarbone. “Can I show you my mark?”

“Tess,” he says, wide-eyed. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she squeezes his hand. “But I want to.”

They sit on his couch, the night sky dark from outside his window. She opens her purse to find her make-up remover wipes. She takes one out and is about to press it to her skin but she stops. “Can you do it for me?”

“If you want me to.” He takes it from her and presses it to her skin. He looks up at her and she nods. Her heart’s beating so fast.

He wipes away at her skin firmly and she knows it takes a couple of passes for her mark to show through. He frowns in concentration. Then he stops, his mouth parting when he sees her mark for the first time.

“It’s a bit random, isn’t it?” she breathes, as his fingertip traces the hexagon-shaped part of her soulmark. “To have a chemical formula as a mark? It’s a compound found in chocolate, which is fitting. It’s supposed to be one of the important chemicals for love too, which—I don’t know how fitting that is, but I found it hilarious the first time I found out,” she’s rambling, she knows, but he’s not saying anything and she’s nervous. “It’s called—”

“—phenethylamine,” he finishes for her, hoarsely, drawing it over and over, like he’s committing them to memory.

Or like he’s remembering, because he’s seen it before. _Oh._

He bends his head, lips burning her skin where her mark is as he kisses it.

He takes her hands and brings them to the first button of his shirt, guides her to undo the first button and she slowly, slowly, slowly undoes each button. Her breath catches in her throat. The dark lines are bold against his skin, her finger following the path they carve over his heart. His mark.

She mirrors his gesture, bringing her lips to his warm skin, feels the thud of his heart beneath her, barely grazing her teeth and he groans.

“Maybe, for both of us, our soulmate is really just chocolate?” he jokes, laughing, moving her until she settles on top of his lap, her fingers still over his mark. She buries her face against him and makes a noise of frustration.

“Are you okay? Are you disappointed?” He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh, his hand drifting to her lower rib, where she knows he knows she’s ticklish and she bats his hand away.

“I’m trying to figure out whether I’m mad or not that we have the same mark,” she mutters.

“It’s kinda funny, though—”

“—Scott—”

“—that I’ve been so convinced that there’s someone out there who’s perfect for you—”

“—Scott—”

“—but it turns out—”

“—SCOTT!—”

“—that the universe had me in mind for you anyway—”

She kisses him soundly to shut him up.

“Be honest, though, T,” he whispers when they catch their breaths, “is it okay? That I’m your soulmate?”

When he looks at her, it’s like he has his heart in his hands, just waiting for her to break it.

“Scott,” she says softly, threading her hands through his hair, tracing the shell of his ear. “I loved you and I chose you before the universe told me I could. How could I not be the happiest person that my mark is yours and your mark is mine?”

“But?” He smiles fondly, and she likes that she has an entire catalogue of the shapes his mouth takes.

“I’m mad, okay! Not at you, never at you, but,” she covers her face with her hands, “I love you and I don't doubt your love for me. But I never considered that I could be your soulmate.”

“Are you mad because it’s too _easy_? Only you, Virtch. Only you. For what it's worth, the marks aren’t a guarantee anyway. It’s just like, a strongly worded suggestion from the universe. You know, like when you’re looking something up on the internet and it gives you suggestions?”

“Soulmarks are just google suggested searches?” she asks, dryly.

“Yeah. We still have to do the work, T. But we were going to do that anyway, right?” She doesn’t respond and he hugs her tighter, cupping the back of her neck when she burrows into his warmth. “Be mad as long as you like, then come and love me, okay? I’m needy.”

“What makes you think I can’t do both at the same time?” she mumbles and he laughs, and god, all the things she would do to make sure she hears that sound over and over again.

She looks up at him. He’s smiling at her softly. His love is a comfort and not a burden. “I chose you first,” she says fiercely. “Before the universe said I could or I should or I would. I loved you first.”

“I know.” He presses his forehead against hers. “I _know,_ Tess. I’ll never stop being grateful that you did. You taught me to be brave, you know that? To love without guarantee.” He kisses her in between words, until there are no words to be said anymore.

His warm, calloused hands slip under her shirt, his touch on her bare skin making her press closer to him, shifting up and widening her legs, pressing against him. He swears when she circles her hips against his hardness, the short sound caught between her lips as she drinks him in.

“Tess,” he gasps as she kisses along his jaw, his ear. He shivers underneath her and she feels his nails dig against her lower back.

“I want you,” she says, softly but with conviction. “Scott, _please._ ” He groans at her plaintive cry and she likes this, how she can know him in this way as well, how she can catalogue and keep how he can say her name in the best of broken ways.

His hands cup her ass, holding her tight and she wraps her arms and legs around him as he stands up. She relishes the way his muscles move, his strength, thinks about that same strength bringing her to the highest pleasure.

“We could have stayed on the couch,” she whispers, in between grazes of his lips on his neck. She chases the beads of sweat, chases the taste of him, salt like ocean air.

“I want memories of you in every room, if you’ll let me.” It’s an ardent confession, low like twilight. “But I love all the memories that I now have of you with me in my bed, and I’d like to add this one too.”

She doesn’t know how he still manages to sound so eloquent when she’s doing her damndest to make him weak, but maybe that’s a good thing because otherwise he’ll drop her and she doesn’t want to deal with any broken bones. 

She likes how he can speak like a love song, how from any other mouth it might sound insincere but when he says it like this, she believes it like the loudest secret, the quietest truth.

It’s easy like a sigh when he slips off her clothes, rumpled fabric on his bedroom floor and she likes how he looks at her, how he touches her. She doesn’t waste tugging off his shirt like a whisper, ghosting her fingertips over his heart, travelling southward to undo the button of his pants, push them off his hips.

She could spend an eternity studying him, carve his lines out of marble, his boyish innocence and devilish smirk captured in permanence. 

Or she could just kiss him, she decides, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him down, letting her legs fall open as he pushes between them. She arches her back as his fingers tease the curve of her breast, hooking her leg around his hip.

A strangled sound escapes him when she rolls her hips against his hardness, his biceps tensing as he’s holding himself up above her. He moves his hand to run his thumb over her nipple, the barest touch that has her aching for more. His mouth and tongue is hot at her neck, the valley between her breasts, and _god,_ she just wants.

“Scott, please,” she whines as he slips his index finger into the elastic of her panties, dragging in towards her wetness.

His thumbnail moves up and down the sensitive skin of her waist achingly slow, like she’s not being driven to a shaking mess underneath him.

“What do you want, Tess?” he asks, low and raspy and rough.

“You. I want you.” It’s a blazing declaration and it’s all it takes. He pulls her underwear off her legs, pushing one of her knees out so she’s obscenely opened to his gaze. She wants him to look at her like this forever, making her feel seen in all the ways one can see another. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and she burns. He spreads her open, teasing her entrance and she clenches but he moves up to her swollen, aching clit, pressing the pad of his finger roughly against it and she cries out.

She clutches his bicep, her nails making deep welts on his skin and it’s a different type of marking to the ones that adorn her neck and his chest but it’s theirs nonetheless. It’s wildfire spreading through every inch of her skin and it must be glorious, to be loved so much you’d catch alight. He bends down to take her breast in his mouth, stroking the broad flat of his tongue against her nipple over the lace of her bra and she squirms, panting.

“Scott,” she moans brokenly. “I need more, harder, just—please.” He moves back up to hover over her, watching how he’s made her a begging mess and she loves how intent his gaze is.

He pushes a finger inside her and she sobs in relief and in the exquisite ache. HIs thumb is relentless on her clit as he fucks her steadily with his fingers. She shifts her hips, and he adjusts his angle, until he gets it just right and her mouth falls open with a moan.

She’s devastatingly, unbearably close, coiled tight, every muscle tense. “Scott.” She breathes out his name, a yearning gasp, reaching, reaching, reaching.

His hands, that she’s watched cleverly and delicately make the most intricate of things, make and unmake her now.

“Come, T. Come for me.” He locks eyes with her and she’s quiet when she does, her breath caught in her throat at the blinding white light exploding beneath her eyelids. It’s like a cresting wave, the pleasure he’s taken her to, and she has to take a moment to catch her breath.

When she finally opens her eyes again, he’s smiling softly at her, a touch smug, but with his trademark affection clear in every etch and line. She reaches up to kiss him again, slips her tongue into his mouth so she can kiss him filthy, like both a thank you and a prelude. She moves her hands to his boxers, slides them in to cup his ass and push them off of him, until he’s bare to her gaze.

She takes him in her hand, relishes the whimpers that escape his parted lips as she strokes him with firm pressure. She sits up a little to unhook her bra, tug it off completely until she’s as bare as he is. He reaches into his bedside table for a condom and she takes it from him, rolling it onto his length. She lays back down, and he follows her, and they stay like that for a while, breathing in each other and savouring the moment, the quiet.

When he fits into the cradle of her arms, the parting of her legs, it’s like a welcoming home. She lines him up against her entrance, and he pushes in slowly. She feels full when he’s inside her completely, when she feels him throb inside her.

He starts off slow, agonising, his muscles trembling from the exertion. “You feel so good around me, Tess,” he murmurs in between kisses on her lips, her jaw, her neck, her ear.

She smiles, cupping his jaw. They’re both a little shaky, a little off-rhythm at first, but he searches for the right angle and pace until he’s making her feel something she’s never felt before, not with anyone else.

“There, Scott, just like that, _oh_ ,” she cries out, searching for his mouth, kissing him deeply, wanting every part of them joined, wanting every part of him to become familiar. 

Each drag of him stokes the fire inside her to burn hotter and sharper. Her toes curl, her back arches. She hooks her leg around him and he follows her when she switches their positions so she’s on top. She rocks back and forth slowly on top of him, her hair falling like a curtain as she leans forward. 

She presses her forehead against his, so close that she doesn’t know where her breath ends and his begins, her nails carving marks into his skin, marking him in her own way. She’s so close to the precipice, torn between succumbing to it and prolonging this moment with him. 

He tangles his hand in her hair, tilting her so that her neck is exposed and he closes his lips around the sensitive skin and sucks, bruising her like tender fruit she can’t hold back any longer, one second away from unspooling. And when she breaks, she whimpers his name into his mouth, buries her face in his neck as she surrenders around him. He holds her tight to him as he tenses and comes inside her.

After, his laugh is the sweetest sound in her ear. It’s a sound of awe and disbelief and it’s like someone gave her a mirror to everything she’s feeling. It still feels like a wish blown on a dandelion sometimes, this notion that she’s his and he’s hers. But it’s real.

Later, when they’re tangled and pressed close in the bedsheets rougher than hers but smell like him, she thinks about how he had traced every line and curve of her, her mark included, with equal reverence, nothing more and nothing less. And she knows even with words unsaid exactly what he means: that there are songs about red strings and metaphors about binary stars but before that, and beyond that, are two faithful hands clasped in the dark. 

–

She adores that for all the good changes that have happened between her and Scott, they still kept this. Quiet evenings in each other’s kitchens, talking about their days and making chocolates the way they have for a long time now, the way that he is making time feel like it’s been carved out just for them. 

There’s a mess to be cleaned up later but he takes out his phone first. Music starts to play when he puts it down and she smiles that the first song is one of her favourites.

“Don’t get too comfortable, T. The next song after this is a country one.”

She rolls her eyes, but she takes his hand when he holds it out. There isn’t much space to work with and she doesn’t want to risk knocking anything down on the ground. But Scott makes the most of it, spinning and dipping her, and the sound of his laugh resonates with the beat of her heart. By the last few songs, she’s realised that they’re all just his sappy, twangy country and she raises an eyebrow. 

He just pulls her close, his arms around her waist as hers link around his neck, mumbles his apology like he means it. It’s easier to forgive him when he’s singing the words to her, a little off-key, but it doesn’t make it any less that it’s a little imperfect.

"Hey, Scott," she plays with the curling ends of his hair, her cheek against his shoulder. There’s a question that’s drifted in her mind a few times now, when she thinks of their marks and the choices they could have made. “Do you think we’d have been happy if we fell in love with other people?”

If it was anyone else, she might have offended them, but Scott’s not just anyone else. He holds her tighter. “Of course, T. You are so, so worthy of love, so easy to love. Of course you’d be happy with whoever you choose to give your heart to. I don’t doubt that for a moment.”

“You too,” she whispers. Every part of him he’s given her, the pieces and the planets and the parts and the stars and the sum and the sun, is a gift and it’s one she’s grateful for every night, when her eyes close to the deep sound of his breathing, his hand touching some part of her lightly.

“But I think,” he smiles, “that in every universe, I hold out my hand," he takes it from where it's resting on her waist and holds it out to her, "and you take it,” she places her hand in his and he clasps her hand in his, "and we dance." He lifts her up to spin her and she holds onto him tighter as she laughs. 

He sets her down, still smiling. They stay like that for a while, chest to chest, eyes closed, swaying. 

"Hey Scott?"

"Yeah?" 

She brushes her hand against his cheek. “In this life, I'm happy that I'm with you."

//

_i held you_

_in my palm and in_

_the beat of my heart_

_like an old beginning_

_that exists_

_now._

//

_One year later_

“Turn it off,” he mumbles into her shoulder as their alarm blares in the morning, his arm thrown around her waist.

“Who are you and what have you done with Scott?” She has to laugh, reaching for her phone. “You’re always too awake in the mornings.”

“Someone tired me out last night,” he smirks into her skin.

She pokes the side of his head. “Not a valid enough reason, Moir. We have customers to serve.” She’s barely awake herself and he’s still not moving. “Do you really want Kaet and Maia and Chiddy coming up here? Again?”

He stiffens. “No.”

“Then we should probably get up.” He groans but throws off the covers, pressing an absent-minded kiss to her shoulder before standing up.

They make the bed together, hospital corners and all, and she thinks, not for the first time and not for the last, how lucky she is. It’s like a knock on the door and finding it’s the one person you want to come home to you.

At some point over the last year, they’d joked that they really should break down the walls between their shops and their upstairs apartments. If they did end up doing that, does that make them the punchline? They had to work out how to maintain their revenue for the time they’d closed to get the renovations done, but between the two of them, they figured it out.

She’ll always want to figure it out.

They had spent an evening trying to come up with a name for when they merged their businesses together (the legal stuff Tessa hadn’t even wanted to look at yet, she knows it’s important but it’s _paperwork_ ) and they had scribbled on and scrunched up endless pieces of paper when Scott had sat up from where he was lying defeated.

“Virtch,” he said, “I just realised something. I never told you where my name came from, right?”

She shook her head.

“I struggled coming up with my own name, and I remember doing some research and I learned that one, Moir is a Scottish surname.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure you could pull off a kilt.”

“Rude. Anyway, _Chocolate, Non Aliter_ was based off of the Moir family motto. And you know what the original said? _Virtute, Non Aliter._ By _virtue,_ not otherwise.”

“Oh.” She touches her mark. It’s not the most important thing to her, but she thought of the way they’ve crossed paths and maybe the universe works in nudges, instead of absolutes. “Virtute, Non Aliter,” she repeated. “Have we found our name?”

“If you like it,” he said.

“I do.” It feels right that there’s pieces of them, intertwined together.

And so by their reopening, it feels like a new beginning, in as much as they want it to feel like one without forgetting everything before. It’s all important to her, each piece like a stepping stone or a footprint and she likes to think about how far they’ve come, and how much more they’ve got to share, together.

He catches her eye in the mirror as she’s covering up her mark with concealer, as he buttons his shirt over his. The marks are theirs alone to know, theirs alone to know that the universe chose them for each other. All the world has to know is that they chose each other first.

It’s still dark out by the time they’re in their kitchen, Scott starting on his morning pastries and her checking the orders for the day and packaging everything up. He still makes her morning pain au chocolat and cup of coffee and it still hasn’t stopped feeling like the moment she first fell for him, like it’s both infinite and ephemeral, and it still feels like the first kiss of moonlight every time.

By the time she’s gotten started on her first batch of chocolate to be tempered, Kaetlyn and Maia and Chiddy have arrived. She gives them a wave when they drop by to greet her but everyone knows by now she’s hard to interrupt when she’s in the zone. She feels the press of Scott’s fingertips against the small of her back and she shifts forward to make room for him. 

In this life, this is their dance. 

She touches his wrist as she leans over what he’s working on and he lifts up a spoon to her lips so she can taste what he's working on. She wipes away the specks of flour at his temple, and he rubs her back soothingly when her ideas don't turn out as great as they did in her head. She'll graze his elbow, linger down his forearm, clasp his hand for a moment to ground her, and it's wondrous that such moments aren't stolen anymore. 

They're hers, and they're his, and it's theirs to make and keep and memorise.

//

_i loved you in_

_time._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for indulging me in another AU! For reference, [this](https://psychonautwiki.org/wiki/File:Phenethylamine.svg) is the chemical formula that is their soulmark (because I'm unapologetically a nerd). Come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stardust_echoes) or [tumblr](https://echoesofstardust.tumblr.com/), and wishing you a lovely day! <3


End file.
